


Changing

by thedeadleaves



Series: hold our destiny within ourselves [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, House Targaryen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Miscarriage, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadleaves/pseuds/thedeadleaves
Summary: House Targaryen was fortunate that the marriage between King Aerys and Queen Rhaella was fruitful.But it was a mistaken concept to think that the Targaryens were lucky to have five sons and two daughters of the dragon to carry on the line after the Tragedy of Summerhall nearly killed all of them. No—the truth was that the Targaryens were fortunate Daeron, Shaena, Aegon, and Jaehaerys survived beyond the cradle because their lives would impact Rhaegar profoundly. Above all, family was greater than anyone could imagine.And when Targaryens were involved—that meant the course of the world could change forever. Rhaegar would not be the last dragon.Though it felt as if his family was the beginning and end of everything.AU: Shaena, Daeron, Aegon and Jaehaerys survive the cradle.
Relationships: Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen, Baelor Hightower/Elia Martell, Daeron Targaryen/Original Character(s), Rhaegar Targaryen/Original Female Character(s), Rhaegar Targaryen/Shaena Targaryen
Series: hold our destiny within ourselves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773202
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	1. Daeron, born 261

**Author's Note:**

> A series of interconnected one shots detailing the relationship between Rhaegar and his siblings if Aerys and Rhaella had more children.

**A New Era**

The births of Prince Rhaegar and Prince Daeron

_The Tragedy at Summerhall was shrouded in mystery and left much death and destruction in its wake. Although the cause of the fire was unknown, many suspect sorcery was involved. The event was linked to King Aegon’s desire to bring back the dragons of Old Valyria in order to restore the Targaryens to their former power. In the last years of his long reign, it was said King Aegon commissioned voyages to faraway lands like Asshai and grew obsessed with texts of old knowledge not yet preserved in Westeros._

_The need for ancient scrolls grew from the opposition the Lords of Westeros had to Aegon’s smallfolk reformations. Without dragons to solidify Targaryen power and influence over the land, Aegon was left to rely on his children’s marriages to several great houses._

_However the gods saw it fit that the majority of his progeny should defy his wishes and marry for love—the sole exception being Princess Rhaelle. Without the much needed alliances, Aegon turned to magic and the occult studies to secure his reign._

_In the year 259, King Aegon gathered those closest to him—the entirety of the Targaryen clan —and the closest councillors and friends he had to celebrate the impending birth of his first great-grandchild from the union of Prince Aerys and Princess Rhaella._

_A great fire consumed the lands of Summerhall and many burned in a blazing inferno of red, orange, and black. The cries of the people could be heard throughout the night as the flames raged on and spared none except for a select few. As Summerhall raged behind her, Princess Rhaella went into labor and birthed her firstborn, Rhaegar, in a sea of smoke and fire._

_Such an addition to the royal family was hardly celebrated as many perished at Summerhall: King Aegon, Queen Betha, Prince Duncan, Lord Commander Duncan the Tall, the majority of the Targaryens and a greater number of nobles._

_The event spared few and those who survived—Jaehaerys, Shaera, and their posterity—were either unwilling or unable to recall the event. The death of King Aegon V left Jaehaerys II Targaryen to take the throne. However, his reign would be cut short as the King’s constitution had always been fragile and the War of the Ninepenny Kings had greatly weakened him._

_With the Tragedy at Summerhall, the passing of King Jaehaerys II in 262 after three short years on the throne, and Queen Shaera following her husband to the grave the first years of marriage between Aerys and Rhaella were marked with death. This did little to endear the spouses to one another. Their marriage, from all accounts, was hardly a happy one and the siblings shared little affection at their wedding._

_Further tension was added when it became clear the future of the Targaryen family rested on Aerys’ line—with only Crown Prince Rhaegar to continue it. Prince Daeron’s birth in 261 was of great relief to the Queen and joy to the people. There was now a second son to reinvigorate the Targaryen line._

_A line that was celebrated when Aerys II Targaryen inherited the Iron Throne. He proved to be an energetic and charming figure—one that brought great hope to the people and his early reign was marked with high ambition._

_These hopes were dashed as the maesters were not sure if Daeron would live beyond a half-year. He was born premature and sickly with a disease of the lungs. It was said the prince did not cry when he was born. It was only when his mother, Queen Rhaella, placed him in the arms of his elder brother Rhaegar that the prince began to wail._

_And so Prince Daeron lived beyond his prophesied six months._

_With the births of two princes in the wake of tragedy, the future of House Targaryen would be held in the hands of Rhaegar and Daeron._

* * *

**269 AC, King’s Landing**

Even though Daeron was scarcely past his eighth nameday, he was certain of two things: he would grow up to be a fearsome night and he hated Grand Maester Pycelle more than anyone in the Red Keep. More than his nursemaids who chased him, more than his tutors who shoved books into his face, and certainly more than his _blasted_ father. 

He hated that Maester Pycelle was fond of poking and prodding him with unfamiliar instruments in hopes of treating his ‘little unfortunate affliction.’ He hated that the old man often complained about how the first year of his father’s reign had been filled with his parents dragging people from all corners of the world in hopes of finding a cure—as if Aerys and Rhaella were not required to care for their second child. His father had brought warlocks from Qarth, Red Priests of R’hllor from Myr, natural heathers from Lys and once, a _maegi_ from the shadow-lands-beyond-Asshai. She tried to cut off his finger for an ancient ritual. Lord Hand Tywin Lannister had her sent to the gaols and whipped through the streets. His father even brought in an archmaester from the Citadel recently to attend specifically to him: Ebrose. 

Despite all these efforts, no specific cure had not been discovered, not by the great minds of the Citadel and not by the foreign scholars of Essos. The only known cure was clear air and time, according to Ebrose. The maester claimed the ailment would end as Daeron grew out of childhood. Daeron thought it was all complete bollocks and Ebrose was making veiled excuses for his incompetence.

Still it had not stopped his parents from taking every precaution necessary. Aerys ordered the Kingsguard to monitor his physical activity. They were to pick him up and carry him over their shoulders if he ran too quickly or tripped or breathed too heavily. Daeron found it even more insulting that Mama _babied_ him. She took him along for her personal lessons with sissy Shaena (who wasn’t truly a babe but Daeron would never be able to erase the image of Shaena spitting up on Rhaegar during their first meeting). 

_I’d sooner fling myself from the cliffs than pick flowers with Shaena again_. Daeron thought bitterly, pulling a handful of grass and throwing it. _Gods be damned. I’m not going to do it._

The only consolation he received was that they took frequent trips to Dragonstone, at the suggestion of his battalion of personal healers and maesters, for the fresh air and change in scenery. It was a welcome change from the suffocating nature of the Red Keep and even more delightful was that Aerys _never_ joined them. 

Daeron sulked and pouted, sighing heavily as the other boys trained with the master-at-arms with their wooden swords. Mama had taken away his wooden sword when his affliction appeared a couple of years ago and it still stung no less today when he remembered Aerys’ words. 

_“A dragon who cannot breathe air, let alone fire. What a shame."_

Most days, Rhaegar volunteered (read: forced) to sit by his side as they read books together and made up fantastical stories of adventures—fighting waterdancers in Braavos, meeting potioneers in Pentos, learning from sorcerers in Qohor, and discovering direwolves beyond the wall. At first, Daeron whined and complained and begged Rhaegar to sit and read with him—as the other boys wouldn’t. And why would they? Who would trade climbing trees and playful wrestling for the company of a weak-bodied boy? 

_Rhaegar_ would, even if it was begrudgingly. 

Daeron didn’t mind his brother’s grumbling most of the time. Mama told them they had a special bond, as Daeron only ever used his lungs as a babe for Rhaegar. 

It was flattering to know he was the only playmate Rhaegar had. 

Only today, his brother had been so melancholic and forlorn that Daeron could not _bear_ to be near his elder brother. 

Right now, he wanted to _run_. 

The other boys, sons of important bannermen and lords, were running. He could spot Robert Baratheon’s dark head amongst the training grounds and saw the muddy face of the stable boy, Marlon, shriek when Monford Velaryon kicked him over. At first, the other boys made the effort to invite him into their games and even took care not to do anything too strenuous. They headed the warning words of Daeron’s Kingsguard but then grew impatient. They stopped bothering when it became apparent he couldn’t keep up and wasn’t allowed to do anything. 

He wanted to stomp and throw a tantrum. It wasn’t fair. 

They might have written onto their foreheads that they thought he was a drag. 

He wasn’t a drag though. Last week, he convinced Rhaegar to sneak into the kitchens with him and stick all their fingers into the pies. Well, Rhaegar only accompanied him to make sure he didn’t cause too much havoc for the cooks and get thrown into the ovens for being a menace. And Rhaegar hadn’t really stuck his hands into the peach pies. Instead he hissed at Daeron for licking his fingers and then digging into the flakey crust _again_. 

Daeron was not ashamed. It was a _delicious_ scheme. 

The other day he had even discovered a secret tunnel leading out of the Red Keep and towards Flea Bottom. Somehow he knew he was going to regret showing Rhaegar the tunnel. Already he could imagine his brother sneaking out, dressed as a minstrel, to sing to the smallfolk in Flea Bottom. 

Still _that_ might be more fun than he was allowed to have. 

He could be fun. He could be adventurous. If only people other than Rhaegar let him. 

Everyone thought he was soft and shy and mild mannered. A pampered little prince. Rhaegar’s shadow. He didn’t want to be soft. He wanted to be strong. Strong enough for Mama to love him like he was made of steel and not delicate glass. Strong enough to protect baby Shaena from the other girls. Strong enough to drag Rhaegar away from his books. Strong enough for his father to _finally_ look at him with approval.

Once when pretending to be horsegroomer, he and Rhaegar overheard one of his Mama’s ladies talking to the stableboy—or talking and kissing—about how it ‘was a shame both princes weren’t ferocious or warriorlike.’ She even had the audacity to call them _effeminate_. He hadn’t known what that word meant at the time but he hadn’t liked it much. 

Rhaegar dragged him out of the stable, to prevent him from biting her nose off, and later explained she had called them lady-like. Daeron threw a mighty strop that day, loud enough to warrant the attention of Mama. 

With a note of shame, Daeron regretted tattling to Mama about what one of her ladies-in-waiting had said about them. Belladonna Blackwood had been promptly dismissed from his Mama’s service and sent home in shame. He was not so noble to not feel a bit of smug pleasure—the other girls learned not to make fun of him anymore.

Girls liked to gossip but could not _stand_ to be insulted. It was perplexing. Highly so. 

He found girls to be one of life’s greatest mysteries. All Shaena liked to do was play with her dolls, worry about her embroidery stitches, and wear pretty dresses. She always begged to join along in Daeron’s adventures but refused to get her hands dirty. Why would they let her play with them then? Shaena didn’t like to fight with swords, make mudpies, or pretend she was on a ship towards Volantis.

With a sour feeling, Daeron wrinkled his nose when he remembered his betrothed Naeryn Dalaeris was due to visit from Volantis in a few moons turn. 

_Ugh_.

Aerys arranged for cousin Steffon Baratheon to sojourn to Essos to find a noble bride of Valyrian descent for Daeron when it became clear to the court that Rhaella’s pregnancies would end in either bloody sheets or stillbirths. Or so he was told. However he suspected differently. One day he heard Steffon’s chatty wife gossip with her ladies that Aerys only arranged Daeron’s marriage to Naeryn to stop Tywin Lannister from foisting his daughter Cersei onto him. Something about the lord hand overreaching. 

_Bugger the reason_. 

Mama kept reminding him of Lady Naeryn’s visit—the ‘auspicious event’—whenever she got the chance. He was to select a gift for his betrothed except he had no idea what to get. Asking Rhaegar would be futile. The only girls his brother interacted with were Mama and sissy Shaena. 

_I could always get Shaena to pick something from the vaults and I’ll pass it off as my own._

Daeron glowered at everyone in his vicinity over the edge of Lady Naeryn’s gift _The Tales of Baelerys the Bard_. It was a collection of fairy tales Essosi nobles told their children. Begrudgingly, he admitted it had been a well thought out gift. The stories were interesting. 

Secretly his favorite was the one about the princess who escaped her tower by using her hair as rope. Although if anyone asked, he told them it was the one with the mad sorcerer and dragon. 

“You have not turned your page, brother.” A soft voice broke through the silence. “What ails you?” 

He shielded his face from the sunlight with his hand and peered through his fingers. “What do _you_ think, brother?”

Rhaegar sat next to him under the tree with an apple in one hand and a thick tome in the other. His brother’s eyes were clear and bright. He glanced at Daeron’s face, frowned and resumed his reading—grasping the root of Daeron’s unhappiness immediately. 

“You wish to play with the other boys,” Rhaegar said flatly. 

Ser Gerold’s gruff voice cut in, “I cannot let you do that, my prince.”

“Easy for _you_ to say.” Daeron muttered. “I’m sure you got plenty of time playing as a child. _Your_ parents even let you become a knight.” 

The Kingsguard’s skin was healthy, tan and shone a soft bronze in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Daeron’s skin was a stark contrast to the Kingsguard’s as it was pallid, pale and peaky. It might have been more like Ser Gerold’s—vibrant and robust—if he wasn’t confined in doors or under the shade of trees all day.

There was a pitying glint to Ser Gerold’s dark blue eyes. Daeron didn’t appreciate it one bit. 

He threw the book in the grass and groaned. “I _could_ play if a certain knight and Prince of Dragonstone just turned their backs and did not tattle...” 

“The last time we did that you had to be carried to the maester while you asphyxiated,” Rhaegar piped up drily from over the edge of his thick book. “Or do you not remember that?”

“Codswallop. It only happened _once_ ,” Daeron humphed, rolling his eyes and nudging his brother with his foot. Rhaegar dropped his apple and swiped at Daeron blindly, not looking up from his book.

“ _Once_ is enough of a warning,” Ser Gerold moved to adjust the laces of his boots. “Don’t fancy on explaining to your father why you collapsed. He would relieve my shoulders of the burden of carrying my head.” 

“Hardly worthy of kicking up a fuss.” Daeron mumbled.

Although Rhaegar’s face was shielded by his volume, Daeron could imagine his brother rolling his eyes behind the pages. “You kicked up so much of a fuss, in fact, that you had to be bedridden for a sennight so your lungs could recover.” Then he returned to his books. 

As if the Gods heard his prayers, a ball rolled toward the tree and landed in front of Daeron’s feet. He caught sight of the unassuming ball and looked up at Ser Gerold, who was talking to his old friend Willem Darry. It was a rare sight to not have the Kingsguard watch him like a hawk and an even rarer for a ball to be so close to him. Even better, Rhaegar was so consumed by his new volume from Essos he would not notice if Daeron was gone. 

He chewed his tongue and shrugged, stepping forward. Surely he could sneak off silently enough for five minutes with the ball and it would be fine? He’d just run around a bit—just once to get a taste of freedom and fun—and then he’d come back before Ser Gerold noticed. Thankfully Ser Willem Darry had the ability to capture the full attention of all who spoke to him.

And today he was regaling Ser Gerold with the latest castle gossip. Daeron had taken to privately referring to the White Bull as Ser Gerold the Gossip. 

A smirk grew on his lips and his eyes twinkled. _Sod Maester Ebrose,_ he thought giddily. _I’m going to play_. 

With care, he grabbed the ball and made sure to tread quietly away from the tree. When he was sure there was sufficient distance between him and his glorified bodyguard, Daeron put the ball down in front of him, extended his leg back and kicked it. It rolled a few feet away from him, which was nothing new. If Rhaegar felt adventurous enough, he would engage Daeron in a few games. What _was_ new, however, was the feeling of pure exhilaration that filled Daeron when he realized he could play with the ball _alone_. 

No Rhaegar to warn him not to exert himself. No Mama to insist he sit and read stories with her instead. No Father to mock him for his weak constitution. No Kingsguard to avert his eyes from the boys. 

The ball bounced off the ground and Daeron shouted in jubilation. His deep indigo eyes sparkled with thrill and he relished in the feeling of _finally_ using his legs. 

_Bloody hell, why does Rhaegar read all day if he can do_ this _?_

He began to bounce the ball on his knees, alternating between left and right. Soon after he did a lap, dribbling the ball between his legs but quickly decided it wasn’t enough. The feeling of playing, the ability to feel the wind against his cheeks as he ran, the warm brilliance of the sun on his skin—it was a feeling he _never_ wanted to give up. Daeron wanted to run and run and run for the rest of his life. 

Unfortunately, it would only last a few minutes and the end of Daeron’s freedom came in the form of the Ser Gerold who finally looked back at the tree and realized the boy he was assigned to guard was not there.

“Where is your brother, Prince Rhaegar?” 

Rhaegar put his book down, “Right there…” he pointed to the spot next to him which was empty. “ _Dammit_.” 

Ser Gerold bolted forward and looked around the courtyard for the prince. Rhaegar joined him, hissing loudly. 

With his silver hair and loud boisterous shouts, Daeron was not hard to spot. 

“There!” Ser Gerold pointed. 

“ _Daeron_ !” Rhaegar growled, equal parts horrified and irate. He stormed forward, pushing the other nobleboys out of the way. Normally, he tried his best not to step on toes or shove young children but Prince Daeron had a way of grating the nerves of even the most patient of individuals. “Daeron! You _know_ you are _not_ allowed to do that—” 

Daeron stopped bouncing the ball on his head. He let it fall to the ground, picked it up and hid it behind his back—though it was a useless effort. Still beaming, he blew some harried strands of hair out of his face. “I wasn’t doing anything.” He denied unconvincingly. “I was just going for a walk.”

Ser Gerold loomed over him and Daeron gulped. The Kingsguard pulled the ball out of his hands and Daeron squirmed, protesting loudly. 

“Your lungs cannot stand physical exertion,” Ser Gerold said severely. He thrust the abandoned copy of _Tales of Baelerys the Bard_ into Daeron’s hand. Normally the kindest and genial of Kingsguard towards Daeron, partially due to his age and partially due to his fondness of young children, Gerold’s face was twisted into a black rage. 

Daeron’s stomach immediately squeezed but he refused to apologize. “Yes, I can! I just ran around—” 

“It makes you sick.” Rhaegar’s eyes blazed in the afternoon sun. “You could _die_.”

“No, it doesn’t!” He stomped his feet pettishly. “Maester Ebrose only said that because he wants to make my life a living hell.”

“He is a maester. I wager he knows more about your lungs than anyone else alive. If you ever do something like that again, I have no choice but to inform our father.” Rhaegar cut in. 

Daeron’s head snapped up in alarm and he shoved Rhaegar, “ _No_ ! You _can’t_ do that—” he started to wrack his head, “He—he—he'll have me confined to the Holdfast—” he turned to Ser Gerold and pleaded, “ _Please_!” 

“I serve the King first and he ordered us to make sure you do not break the rules of your disease.” Ser Gerold said more kindly this time. 

“It’s not a _disease_ —” Daeron blinked away angry tears. 

“That is what it is, Daeron,” Rhaegar’s hand clasped his shoulder so the two brothers were face to face. “There’s no use in denying it.”

Daeron’s eyes furrowed and he frowned, “You will call it a condition.” He commanded. That was what Mama called it because it made him sound less ugly and broken. Diseases were hard to cure. Conditions could be removed. “I’ve got a condition, however unfortunate it is, and you will _not_ tell our parents. I hardly did any running. I only bounced the ball on my knee.” 

They were locked in a staring contest, a battle of wills. Rhaegar’s face was a tad less austere than before but his eyes remained worried and Daeron wanted to break his gaze. There was a hint of affection that could not be hidden in those deep indigo depths. Normally, Rhaegar, and Ser Gerold, were _very_ lenient with him—his brother helped him nick extra sweets from the kitchens and the Kingsguard offered him more shoulder rides than they did Rhaegar. But when it came to his affliction, both parties were unyielding in sticking to the rules. It was vexating.

“I saw your face turn blue last time, brother,” Rhaegar closed his eyes. “You will not do the same again.”

“But—” 

“ _Not_ again.” 

Daeron looked down at the dirt in shame and sheepishly kicked it. “I promise.” 

He assured quietly, feeling the guilt eat at him. He had long learned that he would forevermore disappoint his father and he accepted it. However the notion of upsetting Rhaegar and Ser Gerold made his stomach roil almost as much as the idea of him making Mama sad.

Rhaegar gave a rare smile. “Okay.”

Daeron laughed and punched Rhaegar in the arm. “Want to go to the kitchens and see if they’ll spare us a few pies?”

* * *

_True to Archmaester Ebrose’s words, Prince Daeron grew out of his childhood affliction by the time he was nine years._

_In his new found physical health, Prince Daeron unleashed a flurry of energy unseen in the royal court since Aerys II was a young boy. The prince wasted no time running around the halls of the Red Keep, getting into trouble, and practicing his swordplay._

_He often cajoled his elder brother into his mischiefs and the two princes were notorious at court for sneaking off into the city. Once Daeron procured a pair of minstrel uniforms. They serenaded the smallfolk of Flea Bottom until a retinue of Targaryen guards found them. Prince Rhaegar complied with the soldiers and rode back to the Red Keep. Daeron had to be dragged, screaming and kicking._

* * *

**271 AC, King’s Landing**

“Yield now, Ser Dragon!” 

Daeron pushed his sweaty hair out of his face and charged forward, bellowing, “A dragon does not yield to an over glorified alley cat!” 

Jaime Lannister grinned at his friend and dodged the blow from Daeron’s wooden sword. 

“Alley cat?” Jaime cried. “You might wound me with your words but you cannot touch me with your sword.”

Normally their repartee would have gone on for a while but it was cut short by breathless cries.

“ _Daeron_! _Daeron_!” 

A pretty girl of no more than seven appeared, clothed in a pastel pink gown made of silk with flower embroidery at the edges. It was long and loose and allowed for the young girl to freely run. A semicircular collar trimmed with Myrish lace headed the whole attire and her sleeves were puffy and rounded. There was a magnificent filigree necklace with a large amethyst at the base of her throat.

The only unusual part to the girl’s appearance was the disheveled nature of her hair and dress. 

Daeron goggled at her and then gave his friend a perplexed look. Neither of them had ever seen Shaena, future Princess of Dragonstone and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, panting so hard as she currently was. She breathed as if she climbed all the stairs in the Tower of the Hand, _thrice_. His composed and unflappable sister would be apoplectic if she could see her own reflection in a mirror. He made a note not to tease her. 

“Shaena, whatever is the matter?” Daeron grabbed his sister’s arm and pressed the back of his hand on her forehead. It was damp with sweat. Heat-fatigue or a fever. That was surely the reason for her unusual appearance. “Are you ill? Shall I fetch a maester—” 

She waved off his attempts to check for illness and scowled, magnificent even in her contempt of his mothering, “Stop it.” She swatted his hand only for Daeron to grab the edge of her dress to pull her closer. 

“Don’t be a _sissy_. Let me see—” 

“If you call me sissy Shaena _one_ more time,” She threatened, eyes bright, “I’ll kick you between the legs.”

From Daeron’s periphery he saw Jaime snort into his fist and stifle a laugh. 

Daeron rolled his eyes, “If you choose to _behave_ like a sissy, then I must insist on _calling_ you one.” 

Shaena stopped her little feet on his and tugged at his ear, “It’s _Mother_ , you imbecile.” 

That was all Daeron needed from his sister to begin heading towards Maegor’s Holdfast where Queen Rhaella would surely be. He bid farewell to his Lannister friend and headed off. 

Normally he resisted any of Shaena’s attempts to steal a piggyback ride from him but this time he accepted her on his back. They needed to see Mama, immediately, and he would not allow his sister’s stubby legs to be a burden. There was no doubt the two of them made a phenomenal sight. Daeron ran like a mad man through the halls while Shaena clung onto his back like a monkey.

“What happened?” Daeron asked. 

Shaena’s face contorted into an expression of pain and she murmured, “Mother had a miscarriage and is bleeding heavily.” 

Alarm struck through him like a nail through a plank of wood. “Will she recover?”

Shaena nodded. His relief at Shaena’s affirmation of Rhaella’s recovery was short-lived, however, for his sister followed with, “But she is delirious with fever now—” 

_“What!”_ He yelped, accidentally chucking his sister off in the process. “What happened?”

Shaena fell off in an ungraceful lump of lace, silk, and golden hair. She let out a loud yelp. “What it, you dolt!” 

“Sorry…” he held out a hand to pick her up and watched as she smoothed out her skirts. “So what _happened_?”

“Rhaegar was with us—” Shaena tucked a loose curl behind her ear, a habitual action done out of anxiety. “Mother and I were listening to Rhaegar’s new song in her solar…” she took a deep breath as if the next words physically pained her, “And when she stood to grab some new thread, she fell over and bled. Rhaegar ran to get the maesters and told me to fetch you.” 

Daeron lowered himself so Shaena could jump onto his back. 

“Why didn’t she inform us she was with child?” Daeron asked smally. 

Shaena shrugged sadly, with more understanding and melancholy a girl of seven should possess. “Perchance she did not know or she worried about losing the babe ....” 

Sadly, this possibility was not unfamiliar to Daeron. He remembered how thrilled Aerys was when Mama grew heavy with child the previous year. It was the first sign of true happiness in his parents’ marriage he had seen in a long while. His father bought Mama new gowns and summoned healers from far and wide to tend to her throughout the pregnancy only for it to end in a stillbirth. Daeron flinched, remembering the sound of Mama’s sobbing and Aerys’ rage. 

The three of them—Daeron, Shaena and even Rhaegar—had sat outside the birthing chamber, eagerly waiting for the arrival of their new sibling. It had been Daeron who noticed an abnormality in the midwives’ behavior. Before they had fluttered with excitement but then their faces became strained with fear. He had snuck into the chamber (the royal children had been banned from witnessing the labor) and pushed past the midwives to see a blue babe cradled in a midwife’s arms. 

Daeron could not remember ever screaming that loudly. He had been terrified out of his mind and it had taken Rhaegar several hits on the head to quiet him. 

His elder brother had swiftly moved to pull him away from the bed, claiming Mama needed time to recover. Rhaegar even pulled a sniveling Shaena into his lap and let her play with his hair. It was the first time Daeron witnessed Rhaegar initiating any sort of affection toward their younger sister. 

Only _sister now_ , Daeron thought sorrowfully. 

Mama refused to name her stillborn daughter and buried her immediately, without any fanfare. Daeron silently dubbed the babe Rhaelle—in honor of Mama’s favorite aunt growing up and because the name sounded lively and vivacious. 

_As little Rhae would have been if she had lived._

Remembering how furious his father had been when word reached his ear of his wife’s stillbirth, Daeron clenched his fists. Aerys had been quick to call it divine justice from the Seven for his wife’s supposed infidelity. He claimed his seed was not so weak to cause Rhaella to ‘bleed the little lives out between her legs.’ Since then Mama had been confined to the Holdfast and two septas were to sleep with her daily to ensure she remained ‘faithful.’ 

Daeron thought it was unfair and cruel for his father to curse and strike his wife and queen. Nor was it appropriate—the walls had ears in the Red Keep and rumors spread faster than a disease in the winter.

As if sensing Daeron’s thinning tolerance towards Aerys’ actions and vile words, Shaena looked at him warningly, “When we arrive—not a peep at Father.” 

“But—” 

She held up a hand. “Whatever he says, you bear the insult _silently_. Mother does not need you to add anymore salt into the wound.”

He huffed at being ordered about by his baby sister but agreed. He would inwardly stew and brood over the disrespect that was guaranteed to be hurled at his mother.

Soon they reached the corridor leading up to Mama’s bedroom and Daeron set Shaena onto the ground.

The royal children moved swiftly towards the door where they were greeted by a pair of soldiers dressed in Targaryen livery, the red three-headed dragon emblem emblazoned on their chest. Both of them bowed towards the pair of siblings as they passed. While Daeron did not care enough to nod in recognition towards them, Shaena spared the soldiers a swift curtsey. 

“Have either of you seen my brother around?” He inquired brusquely. 

One of the soldiers pointed toward the end of the corridor where Rhaegar sat with his back to the wall, legs pulled up to his chest and face tucked between his knees. 

Shaena and Daeron exchanged concerned looks before the latter waved Shaena off. 

“I’ll attend to him. You go see Mama.” Daeron whispered. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I’ll get him to stop being an idiot.”

His sister wasted no time running towards Mama’s bedchambers. 

Sighing heavily, Daeron rubbed his eyes and walked slowly towards Rhaegar, while trying not to let his frustration show. Now was not the time for Rhaegar to fall into one of his seasonal palls. Mama needed _all_ of them to keep their wits about. 

But, no, his brother was too busy brooding and staring at the floor while their mother bled and toiled. 

_Stone the fuck up, Rhaegar_ , Daeron thought mercilessly. 

But he slid down the wall and sat next to his brother, nudging him with his shoulder. “Ought to be in there, don’t you think?” 

He received no verbal reply and Rhaegar moved to inch away from him. 

Daeron looked up at the sky and silently asked the gods why they hated him so much. Couldn’t they have blessed Mama with a healthy womb? And him with an elder brother who had an ounce of emotional intelligence? 

“I don't have the patience to baby you, Rhaegar. What’s buggering you?” Daeron scowled and ran his hands through his hair. 

“I could have done something to save her,” Rhaegar said after a moment. “I noticed she appeared ill earlier and said nothing.” 

Daeron leaned his head back on the stone wall and stretched his legs out. The memory of little blue Rhaelle flashed through his mind and he took a deep breath, banishing those horrible thoughts from his head. He’d had nightmares about the babe for weeks after her burial and it was only through tearfully crawling into Mama’s bed one night that he moved on from it. She stroked his hair and sang to him and they murmured their shared aspirations for the little girl together. 

“And you feel guilty,” Daeron said flatly. 

Rhaegar admitted, “I could have _done_ something. Told her to sit down—called one of the maesters or—” 

“You couldn’t have done _anything._ ” Daeron interrupted sharply. 

“Don’t say that,” Rhaegar hissed. The only visible sign of anger in his elder brother was the flashing in his eyes before it disappeared. “It’s _my_ fault,” he finished lamely.

“Did you harm Mama?” Daeron asked angrily. “Did you push her down the stairs? Did you put poison into her cup? Did you pray to the Seven she would lose another child?” 

Rhaegar shook his head and his lip curled in distaste, “You damn well _know_ I didn’t do any of those things.” 

“Then it’s not your fault or anyone else’s,” Daeron stated matter-of-factly. “This is tragic but we can’t waste time moping about it. Mama needs us.”

“You weren’t _there_.” Rhaegar said shortly. “You don’t _understand_.”

Daeron stopped for a second and squinted at his brother, “Are you daft? Do I need to call the maester to diagnose you with idiots’ disease? I’ve been telling people for years you have it but no one believes me—” 

“This isn’t funny!” Rhaegar said shrilly. 

“Neither is you sitting out here and moping.” Daeron retorted. “You forget I was there for the last stillbirth.” 

“I remember you shrieking your head off like a banshee,” Rhaegar proclaimed, crossing his hands over his chest. “All you did for weeks was mope about the babe—you are the _last_ individual to start telling me what to do—” 

Daeron hit him on the head and Rhaegar snarled. 

“Go ahead. Say something stupid again and I’ll hit you _harder_.” Daeron informed smugly. “Go on!”

“You can’t—” 

Daeron hit the side of Rhaegar’s head again, hard enough for it to bump against the stone wall. 

“Go ahead! I’ll do it again!” 

Rhaegar opened and closed his mouth. 

“You’re a prince—not a fish.” Daeron said haughtily. “Don’t open your mouth if you don’t have something smart to say.” 

Rhaegar huffed and then relented, “I almost killed her—at Summerhall. Why is it that I survived while so many others suffered and died?”

“Circumstances entirely out of our control,” Daeron clenched his hands and unfurled them, taking deep fascination into the crescent shaped marks his nails left on the palms.

“There has to be a reason, a _meaning_ , behind all this suffering …” Rhaegar whispered. 

“Or there is no meaning other than you were coincidentally born on the same day nine-tenths of our family died in a great fire and you should thank yourself lucky you escaped unscathed. Your bloody obsessive languishing over the past causes you to miss the present,” Daeron snapped, irritation growing deep in his chest as he pushed his brother. “The dead do not get to dictate the lives of the living. Do not dwell on the past any further, brother, and get your arse into that room _now_.” 

Daeron left no room for further argument from Rhaegar for he grabbed his elder brother by the crook of the elbow and unceremoniously hauled him into the Queen’s room. Rhaegar did not protest and allowed himself to be dragged. They rounded the corner to reach Rhaella’s chambers and saw Grand Maester Pycelle exiting while Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard stood vigil outside the Queen’s room. 

He noted that Ser Jonothor was quicker to bow at their approach than Maester Pycelle. The old coot of a maester failed to hide his distaste when he finally spotted Daeron and Daeron resisted sticking his tongue out. 

_Feeling’s mutual you fucker_. Daeron spat. 

“Your Graces,” Jonothor said slowly, a gruff growly noise. His face showed the beginnings of crow’s feet and there was silver creeping up his temples. Despite this, the warrior shone brightly in the man for he stood tall and strong—two heads above them. 

“How does she fare?” Daeron said quickly before any small talk could begin. 

“The Queen will recover,” Pycelle proclaimed, rubbing his hands in a manner that made Daeron suspicious. 

The maester’s head boasted a receding hairline. Two dozen chains the man forged during his time at Oldtown were stretched from wrinkled, flabby neck to his breast. He looked like an overgrown fat goat with a beard so long it could have been tucked into his purple velvet robes.

 _Far too extravagant for a simple maester of the Citadel_. 

Daeron moved to enter the Queen’s rooms but, infuriatingly, was stopped by Pycelle. 

“We wish to see our mother,” Daeron grit his teeth at the condescending manner in which Pycelle regarded him. “Step aside.”

“The queen needs rest,” Pycelle countered, stroking his long beard in a contemptuous manner. “Rest which cannot be gained if two princes were to barge into her room. Listen to your elders and run along.”

Daeron huffed and rolled his eyes. He tried to shove past Pycelle before Rhaegar held him back, “Wha—” He gave his brother an incredulous look. 

“ _E_ _nough_ ,” Rhaegar said coldly. “Do not presume to speak to us in such a manner in the future. Now, step aside so we may visit our mother.” 

With a flicker of satisfaction in his gut, the Grand Maester buckled underneath Rhaegar’s piercing gaze and shuffled quickly to the side—giving them access to the Queen’s chambers. “We will call upon your services if you are needed,” Daeron smirked. “Now leave.” 

In a huff, Pycelle left. 

Without even glancing at Jonothor, Daeron said, “Make sure we are not interrupted and have the maester remain nearby in case there is an emergency.” 

“Of course, my prince.” 

Ser Jonothor opened the door for them so that they may enter. 

Rhaegar rolled his eyes. “Do you think it is wise to antagonize the man responsible for our health? Why do you have to be such a prat?”

“It is equally unwise to spend your time roaming the ruins of Summerhall like a poltergeist.” He retorted quickly. “Why do you have to be such a git?”

“I _hate_ you.” 

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Prat.” 

“Git.”

Daeron followed his brother’s lead, not knowing quite what to expect. His mother’s room always had a hint of her sweet personality despite most of it being dominated by red and black—sheer red canopy silks and plush pillows, light tinted damask walls and wide windows for plenty of sunlight. However, today, when he stepped into the threshold, it felt claustrophobic as the walls began to close around him. It was a chintz nightmare of red and black and ornately carved dragons. The air still carried the scent of blood and tears. 

Daeron shivered. 

His fear receded slightly when he spotted Shaena attending to Mama’s bedside. The curtains were pulled to maintain privacy, although he could see his sister’s grim face through a slit. 

“Mama, I’m here,” Daeron’s throat closed and a wedge of grief lodged itself in his chest when he spotted her. 

She laid sick on the bed. His mother was by no means a delicate or petite woman but she looked infinitely smaller than ever underneath the blankets and numerous pillows. Shaena laid clothes of cold water over her forehead. The droplets of water mixed with Rhaella’s tears.

In that moment Daeron was struck with the urge to pray to the Seven which he never truly believed in but it was not fair Mama should suffer so. She already had a stillborn the year past. But now, Daeron offered the Seven a deal. 

_If you save my family, if you keep them safe, I will come back to you. I will follow you and teach my children your ways. Please_.

Weakly Mama’s eyes flickered over to him. Her indigo eyes, which her two sons inherited, were ringed with dark circles and her cheeks looked hallowed in. There was an unpleasant sallow tint to her skin and each breath she took rattled her chest. He flinched when he heard her cough.

She whispered, “I _lost_ my baby.” She took another deep breath and her breath hitched, “I lost—I lost my baby.” 

Daeron sat by her bedside, opposite to Shaena, and grabbed her hand. “I know. It’ll be—” he cleared his throat, unsure of what to say next, “—It’ll be alright…” he finished lamely. 

“How are you?” asked Rhaegar who shook himself out of his stupor and sat by the foot of Mama’s bed. 

“I fell with child immediately after we got married,” Rhaella continued, ignoring their confused looks, “And ever since then … I keep losing them.” She let out a loud sob. 

Shaena gingerly pulled Rhaella into her small arms, an otherwise odd sight for his sister was half his mother’s size. “We will do everything to ensure peace and comfort on you during this time. _Won’t_ we?” She gave them fierce glares.

Daeron and Rhaegar both gave affirmative nods. 

“Your father is wroth with me,” Rhaella sniffled and her voice broke. “It is another one of my many failures, he said. He wants more children _now_. What shall he do with me?” 

Daeron reacted angrily, frowning at his father’s cruel words. “He will learn to live with it.”

“He was not aware of this one…” Rhaella’s eyes glazed over as she recalled the past, “Or the other one right before…”

Words refused to form on his lips. The blood drained from his face and Daeron gaped openly at Shaena and Rhaegar. 

Luckily his brother was quick to get up, “I will go fetch my harp and finish playing for you the new song I was practicing. Would you like that?”

Rhaella gave a weak smile from her mountain of pillows. 

“You have given Father a brood of dragons,” Shaena brushed back a wet strand of hair from Mama’s clammy forehead and traced her face gently. She paused as if to find the proper words to comfort Mama in this time of grief. “There is no failure in you, Mother.”

“It’s true—” Daeron piped up, scooting across the bed to lay next to his mother, “—You have given him two sons and a daughter. You are the kindest woman I know. Whenever I was sick, you sang to me and whenever Shaena had a nightmare you comforted her. Even Rhaegar smiles around you and he’s got an eternal pall on him.” 

At the sound of Daeron’s jape, some of the color returned to Rhaella’s face and she was shaken out of her reverie. “Eternal pall?” She repeated, voice hoarse but thick with amusement. 

“He’s always so _surly_!” Daeron burst out. 

To his misfortune, Rhaegar chose at that moment to chip in, “I heard that you tosser.”

“I know. You were _meant_ to hear it.” 

Shaena shook her head, “You two are children. Miscreants of the highest order.” 

To his relief, Mama let out a soft chuckle at the sound of their bickering. “You all take such good care of me,” she smiled, “What have I done to warrant such treatment?” 

“We will try not to spoil you rotten,” Shaena said softly. 

“Says the one who always gets what she wants from Aer—Father,” Daeron grumbled teasingly. “All you do is whine and he hands you the world.”

Shaena quirked her eyebrow and moved over Mama’s body to flick Daeron’s forehead. “Mama’s boy.” 

“I am _not_ a Mama’s boy!” He protested defensively, recoiling at Shaena’s touch. 

Mama looked up at him weakly, frowning deeply. He flinched when he saw unshed tears in her eyes. “You’re not?” she inquired softly. 

“Er—” Daeron began, gesticulating widely, “That’s not what I meant—” he racked his brain for a way to deescalate the situation before Mama was hurt anymore, “—Uh—I mean I _am_ but—” 

At his confusion, Mama shared a mischievous look with Shaena and giggled, “I was only teasing, my darling.” 

He blinked owlishly at her and pouted, “That’s not _funny_ , Mama.” 

“ _Yes_ , it is,” Rhaegar drawled deviously and Daeron fought back a groan. His brother would _never_ let this go. “You _are_ a mama’s boy.” He turned to their mother and sister who were still giggling lightly. “Shall I resume playing my song then?”

Daeron shot Rhaegar a grateful look and his brother nodded in understanding. 

The sigh that left Queen Rhaella’s lips was one of contentment and she waved his brother along. 

The song Rhaegar played was an ode to their family, Daeron suspected. The melodious notes rang around the room. The music was made even sweeter when Daeron saw Mama close her eyes and fall back onto the bed with a smile on her lips. 

His love for this family was music without volume. A raging fire that would grow and consume everything in its path and through his soul, through his intuition, Daeron knew it would not fade so long as they had moments like this. 

In the momentary exchange of glances between him and Rhaegar, when their eyes met and they smiled at each other as Rhaegar plucked at the strings, Daeron was proud to say he was a Targaryen.

* * *

_For all of Queen Rhaella’s personal tragedies and sorrows, she never failed to smile for her chi_ _ldren and they returned her love with fervor._

_It was noted by all who met him that Prince Rhaegar seemed to have a permanent pall cast upon him. The crown prince took pleasure in very few people and hobbies for he was notoriously reserved and melancholic—likely attributed to the devastating circumstances of his birth._

_Many a maiden tried and failed to make the prince truly happy. Of the few things which drew a smile, a rarity, from the Prince it was playing the harp for his lady mother which seemed to make him happiest. Whenever Queen Rhaella lost a babe in the womb, the halls of the Red Keep would ring with the sound of Prince Daeron’s jests, Princess Shaena’s soft whispers and Prince Rhaegar’s harp._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The childhood disease Daeron has is asthma.


	2. Shaena, born 264

**A New Princess**

The Betrothal of the Targaryen Princes

_ Though King Aerys possessed an heir and a spare to further the royal family line, he often expressed his wish for a litter of daughters to marry his sons to. To continue the Valyrian tradition of keeping the bloodlines pure by wedding brother to sister.  _

_ He turned away proposals to marry Prince Rhaegar and Prince Daeron to sons of Great Houses. It was rumored Tywin Lannister presented his infant twins—Cersei and Jaime—to the royal court the instant they were born in hopes of garnering the king’s interest. _

_ For many years, Aerys was not deterred in his quest to sire daughters for Rhaegar and Daeron. He consulted many maesters and even had the High Septon bless the union between him and Rhaella with high fertility. _

_ His greatest wish was answered when Queen Rhaella gave birth to a hale and robust daughter named Shaena in 264 AC. Named for her grandmother, Shaera, before her and anointed with holy oil by the High Septon—she was the first royal princess born in nearly two decades.  _

_ Her birth was marked with a moon long celebration and many travelled far and wide to gift the newborn princess with extravagant presents. Among them included a dromond from the Triarch in Volantis and a chest full of jewels from the Hand Tywin Lannister. However plentiful her birth presents were, courtiers whispered she was soon to be blessed with the greatest gift of all: Prince Rhaegar’s hand in marriage and a queenship.  _

_ For multiple years, Aerys refused to press the matter of betrothals to his eldest and his youngest. A bounty of lords, desperate for the crown’s favor, offered their own sons’ hand in marriage to Shaena—who was soon growing to be the delight of the entire kingdom—only to be rebuked. The Lion of the West himself offered his own son and heir to the princess but was rudely scorned by the King.  _

_ “You are a fine servant, Tywin, but only a servant. A servant’s child is not fit to marry my child—a dragon of royal, Valyrian blood. Only a Valyrian prince or princess will do for my children.” It was noted the King said. _

_ The slight was not forgotten by the great Lord Tywin Lannister though he did not stop in his persistence for a royal match.  _

_ It was to Lord Tywin’s outrage and insult that the fortnight after he attempted to offer his heir’s hand in marriage to Princess Shaena—King Aerys betrothed all of his children.  _

_ Prince Daeron, at the age of eight, was to marry Naeryn Dalaeris, the youngest daughter of an extremely wealthy and powerful Triarch from Volantis with proven Valyrian descent. Prince Rhaegar, at the ripe old age of ten, was betrothed to his younger sister.  _

_And so on her fifth nameday, Princess Shaena was told she was to be_ Queen _Shaena one day. To rule the Seven Kingdoms at her brother’s side, though she would soon prove to be a force to reckon with in her own way._

* * *

**_278, Maegor's Holdfast_ **

“What ails you so deeply that you have taken to visiting the Sept every week, sweet sister?”

Shaena stifled a scream and moved to pull a knife out from her drawers. She heard the door creek at this indecent hour but ignored it—believing it was a draft. Instead she continued to pray until a voice spoke. Heart pounding violently and veins thrumming with adrenaline, she whipped her head around from where she was rummaging for a weapon and glanced underneath her lashes. A form stood in the doorway, entirely familiar to her, and she swallowed her fear. It was lithe and sinewy with long silver locks that gleamed white in the light of the dying hearth. 

From her  _ other _ brothers, Shaena grew to expect unannounced visits. Daeron came crashing into her chambers without knocking in search of her help in finding a gift for his beloved betrothed Naeryn. Aegon crawled into her room to play  _ cyvasse _ with her. Jaehaerys snuck into her bed after a nightmare or a particularly upsetting exchange with their father. Viserys— _ he _ just came into her room to hide from nursemaids. 

It was a shocking thing to have Rhaegar in her room. It was more impossible and farfetched than all her other siblings barging into her chambers at the same time. But she swallowed back the flurry of questions and slowly returned her knife to its sheath.

Still surprise gripped her frame thoroughly. 

“Do you make it a habit of yours to entire an unsuspecting maiden’s bedchamber in the middle of night?” She asked as nonchalantly as she could manage, though her pulse still beat rapidly. Rhaegar moved closer until his face was visible in the light. “Or is this particular quirk of yours something I must grow accustomed to before we should wed?”

“This will not be a habit.” 

“I should hope not. I am betrothed to _you,_ not Daeron.”

Rhaegar replied dryly. “The other night he nearly got caught with his hands up Naeryn’s skirts—I had to have Arthur cover for him.”

“It seems you are more like Daeron then one might think.” 

“You know,” he began, glancing around the room, “Daeron once tried to cajole me into wearing his clothes—on the day he was to meet Naeryn for the first time.” 

_ That _ Shaena did not know. “Oh? Were you successful?”

“I did not go along with the cockamamie plan,” he rolled his eyes. “Though I’m sure it would have worked—we looked so similar people could not tell us apart  _ then _ .” 

She snorted. “Our brother was once the  _ loudest  _ opponent to his marriage and now it makes it a habit to regularly couple with his Volantene bride-to-be. How utterly rich.” 

“Indeed.” He eyed her dagger and asked slowly. “Do you make it a habit of yours to greet your brothers by drawing your weapons?” 

“Seeing as you will be my husband soon, no. This is a greeting reserved especially for my lurking betrothed.” Shaena smiled tightly, not comfortable with the way Rhaegar entered her chambers so easily, but curious as to  _ why _ he was here. She crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of how thin and revealing her night shift was.

“Have you always been this impertinent?” He quirked an eyebrow and pinned her underneath his piercing gaze. “Or is this an idiosyncrasy developed from too many hours in Daeron’s presence?” 

Normally snapping at people with rude, yet clever, remarks was Daeron’s  _ forte _ but at Rhaegar’s words she felt a long festering indignation and resentment bubble up in her chest. Not all men were blessed to know their brides, let alone spend fourteen years under the same household, and Rhaegar possessed the gall to ask her a stupid question like  _ that _ . He knew nothing about her ability to do sums instantaneously in her head or her skill with a needle. He did not see the way she charmed people or how much she adored artistry.

Rhaegar only saw what he needed to see: a little girl he was set to marry. 

The moniker Daeron gave her—sissy Shaena—flashed in her head then and she scowled. “It is a characteristic I have reserved for you. Consider it an early wedding gift.” 

“Ah, a dagger to pierce my skin and sharp words to pierce my ego.” He gave her a strange look then—looking her up and down. “What generous gifts you have reserved for me.” 

She blushed then, suddenly aware of the double entendre behind his seemingly innocuous words. “Savor them for I have no other  _ gifts  _ for you tonight, Rhaegar.” 

“That—er—is not what I am here for,” Rhaegar cleared his throat awkwardly and shifted in embarrassment. He settled back down onto the edge of her bed, playing with the sheets. 

“Forgive me for assuming otherwise when you break into my chambers in the middle of the night and accost me while I wear next to nothing,” she bit incredulously. She huffed. “Why are you here? For your own entertainment?” 

He shook his head, beautiful locks spilling softly over his broad shoulders. “To speak to you, though I did not expect you to be half so entertaining—” 

“You would know if you bothered to talk to me  _ at all _ .”

He let out a soft laugh. “Daeron was right—I should have attempted this earlier.” 

She allowed herself a few moments to digest the information he gave her and then breathed in deeply.  _ Of course _ , it was bloody  _ Daeron _ who was behind the entire situation. Who else could have devised such a ridiculous scheme to get her attention? Any other sane man might have petitioned to speak to her in the daylight—through more proper channels. 

“He told you to terrify me half to death in the middle of the night?” She inquired, utterly bewildered.

This time it was Rhaegar’s turn to blush and she savoured the image. 

“No, he told me to take the time and effort to get to know you better—said I was inept as a betrothed and a future husband—” Rhaegar stopped suddenly and looked at her with a hint of exasperation, “—though I’m sure you already thought that yourself.” 

She smiled at that. Daeron  _ always  _ looked out for her best interests. 

“I planned on speaking to you during the day but you spend it in the city and at the Sept. I thought that was hardly the appropriate place to approach you.” He gestured to the expanse of her chambers. “That left me with no other option.” 

“And now is the most  _ appropriate  _ option?” She asked with sarcasm dripping thickly from her words. “How reasonable of you, Your Grace.” 

“I would much prefer it if you called me Rhaegar.” 

“I would also prefer it if you did not engage in criminal activity like breaking and entering.” 

He acknowledged his folly, though he did not look ashamed, “Is it criminal if I desire to talk to you? I plan to  _ only  _ stick to this chamber in the future.”

She huffed indignantly and found herself to be more annoyed than relieved. Were all men this ridiculous? Had the Seven tested her faith by placing her in a family of delusional men? What was the meaning of this? 

Shaena paused as she gazed into his eyes, searching for any malicious intent and found his orbs were clear. “What do you want?” 

“You to answer my question: what plagues your mind so that you pray often at the sept?” He shrugged. “I asked your ladies and they all told me you have made it an integral piece of your schedule. To go to the sept, hand out bread to the poor, and to meet with the children.” 

Her mouth went dry. 

Her instinctual response was to ask,  _ Why does that matter to you _ , but then she withheld those words. It was not productive and served only to further alienate Rhaegar. While Shaena often attempted to spend more time with her future husband—extending offers to play the harp, ride in the godswood, and go hawking together—he remained irritatingly proper around her. As if an invisible screen formed between them. She could not waste this rare opportunity. 

Shaena bit her lip, “You are going to laugh at me.” 

“Since when have you cared what I think? Or anyone else for that matter?” He asked in disbelief and tilted his head, faintly amused. “I heard you once tell Daeron to  _ shove it _ when he made fun of your height.”

“That was when we were  _ children _ —” 

“—it was  _ last week _ —” 

She stared at him, thoroughly unimpressed, and a shadow of annoyance passed across her face. “ _ This _ is why I will not tell you. You are already laughing.” 

It was true. He peered at her with the hint of a smile on his lips.

As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She and Rhaegar had not exactly had many meaningful—or  _ any _ —conversations with each other across the years. If they interacted, then it was through a third channel: another one of their siblings or a mutual acquaintance. It would be very difficult to convince Rhaegar to approach her again—especially if she kept turning him away so aggressively. Especially when he was clearly extending an olive branch, however odd it may be. But if it was for the betterment of her future marriage, who was she to let her pride get in the way? That particular folly was reserved for pigheaded men. Shaena needed to suck it up and endure Rhaegar’s laughing. It might be a worthy investment for her future.  _ Hopefully _ . 

“Whether or not you believe it—your opinion does matter to me.” She scanned his face, searching for any hint of cruel mockery—the same kind she often saw playing on Cersei Lannister’s lips. “If not because you are my family and I love you, then because I will spend the rest of my life bound to you.”

“Tell me the truth, Shaena. I won’t laugh.” He assured, nodding along. 

She beamed, feeling considerably lighter. “Elia told me it was wise for a princess to take care of her people. The smallfolk need gold and bread and I have the means to provide it.” 

“That does not explain why you go to the sept so often.” He pointed out wryly, crossing his legs and leaning back. 

“To send the Seven my prayers for our family’s health, safety, and happiness.” 

“I fear those wishes will be in greater abundance in the near future, Shae.” His shoulders dropped and the lighthearted nature of their conversation dampened significantly. He used the petname her other siblings called her by but did not give her time to treasure it. 

“Do you mean Father’s—” 

“No further questions,” his face was torn into an expression of pain and deep melancholy. “This is not a matter for you to worry about.”

_ This _ alarmed her greatly. Since her father’s return from Duskendale, his psyche cracked irreparably. Before his bouts of anger and possessiveness caused alarm—but only within members of her family. He confined their mother to Maegor’s Holdfast, insisted on producing daughters for his large ‘brood of male dragons’, and refused to consider anyone  _ but _ a Valyrian bride for his sons but it rarely affected others outside the immediate royal family. Now, he saw plots and schemes everywhere. From ever overreaching Tywin Lannister, to the smallest servant. 

“I do not mean to ignite acrimony,” Shaena said carefully, taking in Rhaegar’s reaction. “But if I am to be your wife and queen, then I would like to know—matters of this family are entirely within  _ my  _ jurisdiction.” 

Judging from the surprised look which passed over Rhaegar’s face, he found it odd she was acting so forward. How could she have ever presented herself as demanding when he ignored her, after all? Men. 

“Those are dangerous words, Shaena.” He cast a discreet glance towards the door and asked. “Where is your harp? I would like to play a new song for you.”

She snorted inelegantly and quipped, “Perhaps that will give you a legitimate reason to be here.” 

“ _ Ha, ha _ .” 

She pointed to the chest at the foot of her bed and watched him begin to rummage through the contents until he procured a dragon shaped harp. Then he played a soft, elegant song, one she had not heard before. 

They sat on the floor together, her curled up at his side as he strummed the instrument.

He remarked softly, so quietly she strained her ears. “I did not know you were so wont to gamble.” 

“I am  _ not _ . I learned early on it was better not to. That is why I have made a list of demands regarding our marriage.” Both Rhaegar’s eyebrows arched into his hairline, but he did not cease playing. “It is a short one—it will not trouble you too much,” she tacked on hurriedly. 

“Is this arrangement so precarious you need insurance?” He inquired shortly. His eyes slid over her face and she suppressed a blush. Those indigo orbs skimmed over the defined bow of her lips to the long fan of her lashes. 

“Marriage is a dangerous business for  _ all  _ women, Rhaegar, and especially for femalefolk of the royal kind.” 

He was not ready for that answer—if his jaw dropping was any indication. Although his face was less attractive in a state of astonishment than its regular impassiveness, she enjoyed it far more. He appeared to be  _ human _ , not a living statue, after all. 

“I would feel more comfortable knowing it has favorable outcomes for me,” Shaena continued, offering him a tremulous quirk of the lips. “When taking into consideration the fact you and I have had front row seats to the dangers of a failed marriage, I have no intention of  _ ever  _ being at the mercy of my husband.” 

It was the sad state of her mother’s autonomy as a Queen, mother and person which pushed him into listening to her. She knew that much—men rarely cared to listen to women complain about their lack of power. 

“Because you fear  _ me _ ? Or because you fear  _ marriage _ ?” 

“Because I fear losing what little rights I possess. I am not allowed to own  _ property _ . I am not allowed to make my own  _ money _ . I am not allowed to control my own  _ body _ . You have so many choices, so many god-given freedoms. I am severely limited by the nature of my own sex. It is the truth. You  _ cannot  _ deny it.” 

Understanding passed over Rhaegar’s face and he gestured for her to continue. “Speak freely. Tell me what it is that is on your mind.” 

“A few requests of mine. I wish to keep my ladies and have the authority to dismiss them as I please.” She nodded and tapped her chin. She bit her lip, feeling a stone drop into her stomach as she moved to the more indelicate part of her negotiation. “They are  _ my _ friends.” 

Words hung between the two of them—unsaid but  _ loud _ . She waited nervously on his answer and he lowered his head in shame. “I have no intention of turning your friends into my mistresses.” He gave a tentative motion of his head. “You have my word that I will not humiliate you.” 

_ Not like our father did to Mother _ .

She rewarded him with a soft smile and moved closer to his warm body. The next request made her blush hotly. “I understand men have certain  _ physical _ needs,” she began, wringing her hands nervously and she hoped her marriage would not necessitate regulating their activities in the marriage bed. “Daeron has it made it considerably abundant to me—” 

“He did  _ what _ ?” Rhaegar hissed, his eyes flashing red with fury. He shot up onto his feet and she did too—but only to place calming hands on his shoulders.

“With his blatant lustfulness towards Naeryn,” she added hurriedly, trying to salvage her tactless words. “Not through any lecherous advances to  _ me _ .”

“Oh,” Rhaegar’s face returned to a state of sereneness. 

“I do not intend to protest if you find coupling with me outside of procreation uncomfortable…” she whispered softly, searching his face desperately as he gaped openly at her. “I know I am your sister—and so if you employ  _ outside _ measures of aid I will not object.  _ However _ ,” she cut in when he opened his mouth to reply, “I have conditions.” 

He sputtered. “W-Which are?” 

“Your extramarital liaisons will be discreet as possible. Our family will  _ not _ know—not even Daeron. I will choose the women you bed. They will consume moontea religiously. There will be  _ no _ bastards of any kind. If I believe they are overreaching, then I reserve the right to dismiss them as I please. It is only fair as I will not take a lover myself.”

Rhaegar seemed suspended in a state of absolute shock and she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You-you are giving me permission to take a lover…?” he repeated weakly. “But will not do the same…?” 

“Infidelity on  _ my _ part will be catastrophic if it were found out.” She replied blandly before she added harshly. “But that does not mean I will allow you to make a mockery out of me. I am to be your  _ queen _ . Not your  _ doormat _ .” 

Truthfully, after years of watching her mother suffer, she came to expect the worst out of her marriage. There was no reason to believe Rhaegar would treat her with the same respect and consideration Baelor Hightower treated Elia Martell with. He hardly paid any regard toward her, instead preferring the company of his male companions and scrolls. 

“If you do not bar me from the bedchamber, I do not anticipate requiring external aid in that sphere, Shae.” He finally let out slowly. 

“Good.” Though it was  _ far _ from it. Good heavens? Was she truly discussing regular intercourse with her future husband, who snuck into her bedchambers in the middle of the night, while she wore next to nothing? The scandalous nature of the entire affair was  _ appalling _ . 

There was a long silence between the two of them, where they did not move to talk. 

“Whatever caused you to believe I am the sort of man who would bed women left and right—all willy-nilly?” He asked abruptly, clearly aghast. “That—that is utterly  _ preposterous _ .” 

At that she produced a sharp noise and her chest swelled with righteous anger—over rumors that came to pass while their father was held captive at Duskendale. Filled with outrage at such a response, she said shrilly. “Don’t think I don’t know about that  _ courtesan— _ a whore—Daeron sent to your room last year.” She flared her nostrils. “I know she flashed her cunt at you.” 

“I’m going to  _ kill _ Daeron.” He declared. “ _ After _ I beat him in front of the entire court and castrate him.” 

“It is hardly  _ Daeron’s _ fault you could not keep your cock in your breeches,” she muttered sullenly, shrinking onto herself. “I heard you spent the entire night fucking her.” 

Rhaegar did not seem perturbed by her use of crass language and instead bristled. “If by ‘fucking’ you mean playing my harp for the woman, then  _ yes _ .” 

“Huh?” Her eyes widened to the size of saucers and he turned his head away in embarrassment. “You did  _ what _ now?” 

“I thought it best to be frank,” he dispensed, ignoring her question entirely. “I will not take a mistress if you do not plan on barring me.” 

“Why didn’t you bed her?” She demanded irately. “Daeron was crowing about how high her services were in demand and how  _ expensive _ she was. Straight from Braavos and delivered to your bed…”

Rhaegar deadpanned. “Because I have no  _ interest  _ in bedding any woman who throws herself at me or is paid to sleep with me. I  _ do _ have dignity, you know.” 

“ _ Now _ you’re pulling my leg, Rhaegar.” She let out a bark of laughter, not believing him at all. “If you admit to sleeping with that woman, I promise not to be angry at you. You are a man grown. I understand.” 

“I do not lie, Shaena.” He responded coldly. “I did not bed that woman.” 

“What about all those rumors of your—your  _ sexual prowess _ ? Daeron—Daeron said you showed her what it was like to take a dragon to bed! Were those  _ false _ ?” Her jaw dropped and she pointed at him accusingly. 

“Those rumors were started so that our  _ idiotic _ brother would  _ stop _ sending unwarranted naked women to my bedchambers,” Rhaegar rolled his eyes. “It was beginning to get ridiculous. She was the  _ fourth  _ one he sent to me in a  _ moon _ .”

“Fourth one…?” She echoed weakly. “How…?”

Rhaegar looked at her with clear amusement. “There is a tunnel that runs from the Red Keep to a whorehouse in the city.” 

“I—” she rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Why is that not surprising?” 

“Unlike the fact that I did not bed those women?” He teased. 

“You are a man!” she retorted, throwing up her hands. “Men think with their cocks and bed women who throw themselves at them. How was  _ I _ supposed to know any better?” 

He raised an eyebrow incredulously at her. “Because I am your  _ brother _ ?” 

“Oh, yeah?” She cocked her hip out and placed her hand on it. “How old am I? Or—or better yet! When is my nameday?” 

At that, he had the decency to look ashamed and quieted. 

“Exactly!” 

Rhaegar’s sharp gaze glanced down to the floor. “If it would bring peace to your mind, I had no interest in sleeping with any of the women Daeron sent my way or…” he quieted, “... or any other woman.” 

There was a long moment of silence between the two of them as they locked eyes: dark indigo with pale lilac. She processed the meaning of his words and the significance behind them. The twitchiness of his face and the nervous way he plucked at his harp strings. 

“Rhaegar…” she breathed, “You’re a  _ virgin _ ?” 

“Would it bother you if I  _ were _ a man-maid?” He plastered a serene smile onto his face though she knew it was not genuine. “I was not aware it was so unforgivable for a man to save himself for his intended.”

“Seven hells!” She gasped, clutching at his shoulders as peals of laughter burst from her chest. “Oh— _ oh _ . That’s so funny! You are nearly  _ twenty _ and still a  _ virgin _ . By the Seven! Wait until I tell Daeron—” 

He moved away from her, cheeks alight with shame. “If I had known you would delight in such a fact, I would not have told you,” he snapped before adding in angrily, “And you will  _ not _ tell Daeron.” 

“No— _ no! _ ” she waved off his concerns. “I was laughing because it explains why you are so woefully inadequate with women.” 

“Oh, so  _ now  _ you are insulting my social graces.” 

“No.” She shook her head, smiling fondly. “I find it to be endearing.” He shot her a glare, as if he thought she was mocking him. “I  _ do _ …” she inclined her head, “Though I must ask why you have not bedded anyone.” 

He shrugged casually. “I have known since I was a boy that I was to be yours.” He looked off into the dying heart, the flames dancing in his purple eyes and casting eerie shadows onto the high planes of his face. “We have been betrothed since your fifth nameday. Mother and Father would not have taken it lightly if I debased myself with ‘lesser women’.” 

A feeling of hurt bloomed in her chest. It was foolishly naive of her but for a moment she relished in the feeling of knowing Rhaegar would be on the same level as her on their wedding night. That he was hers entirely the same way she would be  _ his _ . 

“I see.” She spat more bitterly than intended. Once again, there was no forethought toward her feelings. Simply fear of their Father’s mercurial temper. 

He gave her a queer look, clearing picking up on her tone. “I had no desire to bed any  _ other _ woman. Not when I was to be yours—there was no need when we were meant to marry. I did not want to dishonor you.” 

“Oh.” Her anger crumbled and made way to a bone deep sense of affection for him. There was no passion in his words—no fervent hint of an inferno of love but she knew he cared for her. It was enough. Her gaze returned to his just as quick. “Thank you.” 

He nodded. “Any further requests?”

“As for my third request,” she paused, trying to find the proper words for her next desire. “I would be grateful if we lived in dignity and respect. You might never  _ love _ me as you love a wife but I wish for us to find mutual satisfaction in this union. No petty squabbling, no secretive plotting.” 

She looked beseechingly at him and held his hand tightly. He looked down at their one hand, intertwined, as his other still played the harp. She admired his ability to multitask. 

“I expect the same out of you,” he responded solemnly. “Any further requests?” He questioned languidly. 

She bit her lip and felt a sudden urge to act more comfortably. If Rhaegar had given her a piece of information even  _ Daeron _ did not possess. By way of replying, she drew herself closer to him. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, alarmed.

“Moving closer, Rhaegar. I am cold.” His arms curled around her instinctively, like when they were children and he comforted her after Mother suffered from a lost babe. She settled against his chest, half in his lap and looked up at him with wide guileless eyes. “My last request,” she whispered into the shell of his ear, causing him to shiver lightly, “is a kiss.” 

He tugged her hand and raised it to his lips. “Have you no sense of self-preservation?” He chuckled lightly. Her lips pursed in annoyance. She scowled and tried to draw himself out her reach but he held in her place by grabbing her waist. “You are asking  _ me _ to kiss  _ you  _ in the  _ middle  _ of night.” 

“Oh, so  _ now _ you care about self-preservation.” She admonished, rolling her eyes. “When  _ you _ were the one who snuck into  _ my _ bedchambers. My guards could have  _ gutted _ you.” 

He rolled his eyes, “Arthur and Oswell are the ones who are standing guard tonight. They let me in.” 

“Those two are the  _ worst  _ Kingsguard who ever served.” 

“I will be sure to tell them that in the morning.” 

Her eyes widened in surprise, “You plan to stay the entire night…?”

“No—when I see them on the training ground. Perchance you will join me in scolding them?” 

“Perchance.” She smiled at that and pulled his neck closer to hers. “Will you let me kiss you?” She asked softly, tracing her thumb over the full swell of his bottom lip. “I have never kissed anyone before but I have often thought about what it might be like to kiss  _ you _ —on our wedding day, during my embroidery sessions, while the Septa lectured me—”

“No sense of self-preservation, princess.” He chastised. “Or are you trying to provoke me?”

She frowned. “If you do not  _ wish  _ to kiss me, then you should  _ say so _ —” 

He silenced her by pressing his lips against hers. Like a soft caress. But she did not move—too shocked to even reciprocate the efforts. Instead he moved her into his lap and his lips moved gently against hers. It was a whisper of a kiss, a chaste one and she trembled in his touch, not knowing  _ what  _ she was doing. 

Shaena had watched passionate kisses exchanged between Daeron and Naeryn whenever the latter returned to Volantis. She hadn’t liked the idea of someone pawing at her like that very much, but Naeryn seemed to enjoy it, and the older girl often encouraged her to be more open to new experiences. So, she was. She had asked Elia Martell about what it was like to kiss Baelor Brightsmile. They’d whispered about it over tea and biscuits, and then Elia burst into laughter at Shaena’s shocked expression. Elia had told her of the racing pulse and the warmth that spread after a man thoroughly kissed her—and Shaena wasn’t particularly invested in  _ that _ sort of feeling. 

She knew Rhaegar would not act that way towards her. 

But this kiss was so different. 

She could not pinpoint the reason why. Maybe because it was her  _ first _ kiss, without any prior experience. Maybe because he swooped down to capture her lips so suddenly, without any warning or preamble. Maybe it was because she was coming off the high of Rhaegar listening to her wishes, without any judgement or mockery. Maybe because it was Rhaegar—quiet, thoughtful Rhaegar. Her brother. The only man in the world she could have ever imagined kissing or marrying. 

Her chest felt full of hot air, like it was rapidly expanding, like it was swelling and ready to burst. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton and her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. Her lips could not produce any noise. 

They parted swiftly and she blinked up at him, his hand still cupping her face. Their faces were no more than the breadth of a hair away, so close their noses touched but she did not move to kiss him again. Her heart hammered like the sound of drums being played and her breath came out in short, shocked puffs. 

“You should best leave before anyone else finds out. Father would be  _ furious _ , even if we  _ are _ betrothed.” She blurted out. 

He moved to leave and pressed another kiss to her forehead, “Sleep well, Shaena.”

She sat, crosslegged on the floor of her bedchambers—his kiss chased any reply from her and when he left, she was left to stroke a finger over her lips. They were not swollen like she had seen Naeryn’s before. But when she fell against her bedpillows, she dreamed of the state of her future marriage. 

* * *

_ After that fateful rendezvous, a rumor spread around the castle that Rhaegar had visited his younger sister in the middle of the night to spoil her—though it was hotly denied by King Aerys, who loathed to hear any malicious hearsay about his daughter.  _

_ It was not lost that Rhaegar  _ did _ begin to take more interest in his future wife. The other nobleladies of the court were rightfully devastated as he was spotted more often with the Princess Shaena and engaged in activities such as harp-playing, riding, and taking her to the ruins of Summerhall with him. It was not lost amongst the courtiers that Shaena was the only woman whose company Rhaegar preferred. He was never seen in the presence of another noblelady.  _

_ The capital soon began to whisper there was not a handsomer couple in the entire realm: the silver prince and his princess.  _

* * *

**_280, The Great Sept of Baelor_ **

Shaena spent her entire wedding day suspended in a state of disbelief. She felt as if she was stuck in a cave. She could hear the cacophony of sounds—from the smallest whisper to the loudest whoops—that came from such a momentous event. The first royal wedding in over two decades. 

_ Her _ wedding to Rhaegar. 

The capital was teeming with celebration.

Though Shaena could not shake the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach, she schooled her features to be as proud and elegant as she knew. It was the gathered pressure of the consequences of her impending  _ vows  _ which weighed on her chest though she took a small delight in the outrage that was clear to see on Cersei Lannister’s face. 

The other girl looked as though she was sniffing dung and Shaena let herself smile in satisfaction for a moment. The lioness had it out for Shaena since she arrived in the capital and now Cersei was going to watch Shaena get married.

Shaena had been granted several liberties with her wedding. She got to choose her own gown. Earlier several ladies and lords eyed the abundance of Yitish silk, Myrish lace and Lysene pearls with poorly hidden jealousy. She  _ knew _ it was a finely crafted thing for  _ she _ chose it. It had a long train to be removed after the ceremony so she could dance with ease. The dress was elegant—not gaudy—and she forgoed a bridal cloak in favor of a veil which dragged on the floor. There was no need for a cloak when the groom was her brother. 

_ Only a Targaryen bride for a Targaryen prince _ , her father declared. 

The only iota of gratitude she had toward the man was due to the fact he ensured she had been trained since birth to be queen and that he insisted on only the finest fabrics and filigree for his only daughter. Even her smallclothes were made of silk and lace. 

She received them a fortnight ago, during the impromptu bridal gifting Elia threw. It was a small and intimate thing—where her closest friends exchanged ribald stories of the young men they kissed and gave her their well wishes in her marriage. It was Mina Tyrell, herself, who bestowed upon Shaena a teal box with a satin bow on the top. When she opened the box, it revealed a set of lace smallclothes—garter and all. 

_ “Even Rhaegar will not be able to resist smiling if you wear that on your wedding night.” She winked whilst rubbing her stomach which still showed signs of her pregnancy. Her friend birthed a set of twins, two boys, with orange hair and brown eyes some moons ago. “It will make him a very,  _ very _ happy man indeed.” _

She flushed deeply when she remembered putting them on in the morning. The brassiere pushed her small chest up so there was  _ cleavage _ —she’d never had  _ cleavage  _ before. Rhaella told her most Targaryen women were thin and svelte, not blessed with ample bosoms and thick curves though Shaena took pride in the fact that her hips were nicely rounded. She hoped she would have an easier time in the birthing bed than her mother did. 

_ That  _ made her face flush even more as she made her way down the aisle and saw Rhaegar stand near the High Septon.  _ Rhaegar _ would see her in her smallclothes today—if the men did not rip it off her body in their haste to see her naked. The thought of drunken men blindly swiping between her legs and pulling at her breasts made her nauseous. But Daeron (along with the Kingsguard) promised to prevent anything untoward from happening to her and she trusted his brotherly protectiveness. Embarrassment made way to horror when she realized her  _ other  _ brothers—Egg, Jaehaerys, baby Viserys—and her mother might see her naked as the day she came into the world. 

The thought alone made her want to retch. 

_ Her _ naked! 

Good god, the sight might make them blind if she did not die of embarrassment first.

To prevent herself from sweating profusely, she focused on the clothes Rhaegar wore she reached the end of the aisle. He looked more beautiful than ever—his features were far too fine to be considered handsome—but she appreciated the subtle femininity to the shape of his face. He donned a black doublet of fine velvet—there was a red dragon embroidered on the front—and an equally grand coat over the doublet with flames creeping up the sleeves. True to habit, he wore little jewelry save for the Valyrian steel signet ring on his middle finger and a band of thick gold around his wrist. 

The ring had been a gift from her.

When she was close enough to examine his expression, she saw he was looking solemnly in the distance. It irked her more than ever, more than she would  _ ever  _ admit. She looked irresistible in the present moment. A vision of the maiden reborn! Couldn’t he at least spare her  _ some _ attention? 

For a moment, she was struck with the immature thought of throwing her bouquet onto the floor in anger. 

Her hair, more silver than gold, was elaborately done in a sleek chignon with a comb made of pearls to hold it together as curled ringlets artfully framed her face. She had done it  _ herself  _ so she knew it was  _ perfect _ . There were sapphires studded in her ears and blindingly shiny diamonds around her neck. Her veil was held in place by her mother’s bridal diadem—she could  _ feel _ it pressing painfully in her scalp. She looked too ravishing for him to not notice! 

It was an  _ outrage _ . 

But it was Daeron who walked her down the aisle and removed her veil before he handed her to Rhaegar. Even her father would not ruin her wedding day by attending. 

“Make us proud,” Daeron murmured into her ear, “You were meant to do this and don’t forget to smile.” He winked at Rhaegar and whispered loudly, “Don’t use any tongue.” 

At that, Shaena cracked a small smile and swatted her brother before he left. Rhaegar remained impassive.

_ The least Rhaegar could do is pretend to smile _ . She sighed.  _ We have been preparing for this our entire lives.  _

Despite how vexed she felt at Rhaegar’s reaction, Shaena knew she conducted herself in a queenly manner today. She held herself tall, walking with precision down the aisle, despite feeling the weight of the entire world’s eyes on her. 

She smiled at Rhaegar and he returned the favor weakly. 

_ Come on _ , she begged. _ Pretend you are happy to marry me _ . 

While he had taken to spending more time with Shaena after that fateful nightly visit years ago, Rhaegar still did not regard her with any passion or enthusiasm. It was duty between the two of them. Chaste kisses. Familial conversation. 

She knew he  _ respected _ her. He  _ cared  _ for her. He did not—and  _ would _ not—love her as a man loved his wife. However disappointing the notion was, Shaena squashed it down—knowing she could not expect any more from him. 

So when it came time for Rheagar to place the cloak of protection around her shoulders—it was a light and sleek thing—she smiled in shock when he murmured into her ear, “You are so beautiful, Shaena.” 

Then he surprised her even further by placing a lingering kiss on her cheek even as the Septon frowned disapprovingly. 

She always wondered if she would feel supremely happy on her wedding day: that she would revel in the attention and enjoy cementing her position as a future queen. She knew she was born to be queen—trained for it since her first nameday. It was her life’s purpose, but there was still a small part of her which fantasized about marrying a man who loved her. Who had eyes only for her. 

_ Stop that, you silly fool _ . 

Rhaegar might not have been tripping over his own feet to be with her but she believed she was more fortunate than most. By marrying her brother, at least she was spending the rest of her life with someone who cared for her—who knew her. 

Still, repeating those reassurances from Elia, Mina and Ashara did little to make up for the empty feeling that existed in her stomach. The feeling that Rhaegar did not  _ see _ her. 

She refused to let bitterness take hold of her as the septon wrapped their hands in ribbon. There was a small comfort to the fact that Rhaegar squeezed her fingers but she found she could not meet his eyes. Instead she flicked her gaze over to where the rest of her family sat. The rest of her brothers, the youngest included, had been allowed to attend. Her father even conceded to her pleading and gave her mother permission—for the first time in a decade—to leave Maegor’s Holdfast. 

Rhaella glowed, wearing a conservative silk gown, but Shaena thought she could see a conflicted expression in her mother’s eyes. Her brothers all looked handsome in their finery. Though she could see that little Viserys was growing antsy from sitting and Jay was staring wide-eyed at their surroundings. Neither of them left the Holdfast before today. 

When it came to the final part of their vows, Shaena hesitated. The words would not form on her lips. 

_ Say it, say it! You idiot! _

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” the High Septon hissed and she felt her throat close up. 

Her breath was coming out in short puffs and the monumental gravity of what she was doing,  _ who _ she was marrying, came upon her in an avalanche of emotion. She was going to marry her brother, she was going to marry the future king, she was to be a queen. She was to belong to Rhaegar—no longer her own person. It was suddenly all too much and the people around her became little more than blurs. Rhaegar’s face turned fuzzy. 

Rhaegar hissed worriedly, eyes flickering to the crowd which began to mumur. “ _ Shaena _ , your vows.” 

She shook her head surreptitiously.

_ “Shaena _ , look at me.” He whispered, sending a hurried look to Daeron who was growing increasingly concerned. “Look at me—look at me.” 

She flicked her eyes toward him. She could not  _ move _ . 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he mouthed when she finally locked eyes with him—indigo to lilac—and her breath began to level out. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” His lips echoed silently once again. 

She smiled weakly and nodded. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” She said loudly. 

“... And take you to be my lord and husband.” The Septon repeated. 

“And take you to be my lord and husband.”

“They are now man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Cursed be the one who tries to tear them apart.” 

Rhaegar leaned down to kiss her chastely and the feeling of his warm lips pressed against her fuller ones broke her out of her numbness. She deepened the kiss slightly and pulled away, relishing the shocked expression her now-husband donned. When he gave her a searching look after stepping back, she bit her lip. If only she could catch a glimpse at what thoughts raced through his head. 

Shaena was worried she was to share a bed with someone who would not share her confidence. That his great affection and trust in Daeron would not extend to her ever. That was hardly her fault though, she reasoned even as her insides writhed. Whenever they spent time together, she made herself as agreeable and pleasant as could be. Throughout the years, she extended several invitations for them to go riding together or have a private dinner. While he grew agreeable to spending time out of obligatory functions with her, Rhaegar was never vulnerable around her—not in the way he was around Daeron. He never  _ confided  _ in her. 

There was always a shroud of something which separated them. 

Once the ceremony came to an end, Daeron and his betrothed Naeryn approached them. Daeron looked to be in high spirits, if his tousled hair and Naeryn’s swollen lips were any indication. 

“Congratulations brother!” Daeron clapped Rhaegar on the back who scowled. “Three of the most beautiful women in the world. One as your lady mother, another as your future goodsister and the last as your bride.” He laughed uproariously. “You would be the most fortunate man in the world if your looks were not so subpar—you ugly pig.” 

Rhaegar looked vaguely amused and gestured to the messy state of Daeron’s hair. “You’re one to talk.”

Her brother smirked at Naeryn lasciviously who blushed and hissed at him. “Shut up, you idiot.” 

Daeron merely smirked and puffed his chest out. 

“Tell me you haven’t started on the drinking early,” Shaena drawled. “That could be the only reason you are being so stupid.” 

Daeron looked affronted and scoffed. “And have my wits leave me as I have the chance to get  _ Rhaegar  _ hammered?  _ Never _ !” 

“Not too much drinking, I hope,” their younger brother Egg cut in. “He needs to do his duty.” He said so solemnly the rest of them could not help but burst into raucous laughter. 

Rhaella swatted him on the head. “Aegon Targaryen!” 

“What?” He shrugged. “It’s  _ true _ .” 

Shaena giggled as their mother proceeded to lecture Aegon in front of the various statues of the Seven.

* * *

_ The wedding between Rhaegar and Shaena was a grand one—with a great ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King’s Landing. Many across the realm attended, though King Aerys’ absence was noted. There was a great feast at the Red Keep later, with no less than eighty courses. Their relationship, while far from romantic and passionate, appeared to be happy and the couple shared many dances at their wedding feast.  _

_ Prince Rhaegar even played his harp at the celebration—a rare occasion—and Princess Shaena wept at the song—an even rarer occurrence.  _

_ The couple moved to Dragonstone shortly after their wedding, as Rhaegar took the seat traditionally bestowed to the heir to the throne. Their marriage, while not romantic or passionate, appeared to be happy and nine moons after they wed, their first child—Princess Visenya—was born.  _

_ How swiftly Shaena fell with child was a source of gossip amongst courtiers and the princess was reported to quip, “I have always been known for my quick efficiency. “ _

_ It was noted at that remark Rhaegar let out a rare laugh.  _


End file.
